Skating in the Dark
by Tynesider
Summary: It's Christmas, and Sheila has a gift to give. An unorthodox but brilliant one. OneShot.


With an awkward stumble Sheila took to the ice, and promptly flailed her arms as she slipped across its surface. She steadied herself and panted away her shock. This was a mistake, but then again she hadn't anticipated the overnight thaw. Now the ice was thinner and decidedly wetter, and wetter ice meant more slipping, even for a practised skater like herself. She scraped her blade against the ice. It felt firm. There was no doubt it would hold her weight, in the Outpost the ice never fully melted, but small patches were known to cave in on warmer days and trip the skaters unlucky enough to cross over them. She knew that fact well – that very phenomenon had broken her leg once, but the risk was worth taking. If this plan came together it would be immense.

Slowly she began to skate, moving in small circles to get into a smooth rhythm. She could hear the slight sound of splintering beneath her feet, but she didn't let it deter her. She had to focus on where she was going. She looked up hopefully, checking to see if the Moon had re-emerged from behind a cloud. She didn't want to do this in the dark, but she had to. If she'd done it earlier it would have melted into an ineligible slush by now. The project had to be as fresh as possible before presentation, and since it would only be visible at night it would have to be made then as well.

Feeling prepared, she broke out of the circle and began to skate in a curve, skating on one foot and propelling herself with the other to create an unbroken line. That was the key – continuity. A series of fragmented lines would look ridiculous. She moved slowly, and when she had decided she'd gone far enough she turned onto her other foot, scoring a line in the ice with it. Hopefully that worked. It was hard to tell from here but it felt right, and since she only had one opportunity feeling right was good enough for her.

She carried on with her awkward routine, listening intently to the scratch of blade on ice, so enthralled in her work that she didn't notice the figure lumbering towards the frozen pond. A figure with wispy white fur smothering his body with a crystal club clutched tightly in his hand. And a look of pure concern on his face.

"Sheila!" he shouted, stepping up to the edge of the ice.

"Evening, Bentley," she replied, not looking up from the line she was carving.

"What on Earth are you doing?"

"Skating."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"I can see that, but why?"

"You'll see."

"I'll see? If it's what I think I'm going to see then I want you off the ice immediately!"

"Why? You think it's going to crack?"

"That or you'll fall. It's dark, you know."

"Bentley, you live in a world where the ice never melts and I'm an experienced skater. I think I'll be fine."

"That doesn't mean I'm not concerned!"

Sheila slid to a halt and smiled.

"So you're worried about me, are you?"

"Of course I am. Not being concerned about the woman I'm courting would be a very ungentlemanly thing to do."

She laughed.

"You're 'courting' me? How sweet. I always have been a fan of the old romantics."

She started skating again before Bentley could protest, but that didn't stop him from trying anyway.

"Sheila, you really do know how to play on my nerves!" he snapped.

"It's just as well you love me then, isn't it?"

"Of course I love you, it's just I'm not partial to letting you pull stunts like this where you can hurt yourself!"

"Well, relax, I'm not going to get hurt."

She twirled around on the ice, tracing sleek lines with carefully placed steps and listening to Bentley's never-ending protests as she did so.

"What if you fall and break your leg?" he said desperately, "That wouldn't be a nice way to spend Christmas Day."

"You can carry me around."

"Who says I will?"

"Oh trust me, you will. You've done it before and I know you'll do it again."

"Well...alright, but what if you fall through the ice?"

"Then you'll forego your own safety to run onto the ice, pluck me out of the freezing water and get me to shelter before hypothermia sets in, and don't protest because I know you will do exactly that."

"And I would," Bentley said firmly, "But I'd rather be in a position where it didn't get to that."

"Well be pleased, because this ice isn't breaking in a million years."

She slowed to a halt and adjusted her position, and with gentle flicks of her feet she began to twirl across the ice, carving out intricate loops in the rink.

"Okay, now you're just taunting me," Bentley said, "Sheila, please, get off the ice before you hurt yourself."

"Shush," she barked, "I need absolute concentration here."

"But you will! You're doing pirouettes in the dark. Tell me how that's going to end well!"

"I'm not going to hurt myself, I've been practising."

"It's a different game at night!"

"Kangaroos prefer the night; it's cooler then."

"But will you..."

"Bentley!" she screamed, and she snatched the words from his mouth. "Thank you," she said, calmer this time, "Look, will you just have a little patience? It's nice to know you're worried about me but it's starting to grind, and it's putting me off what I'm doing. Trust me, you'll regret all these interruptions once you find out why I'm skating in the dark, but at this rate I won't get it finished." She smiled at him, "Will you please let me finish my skating?"

Bentley stood still, then nodded slightly and slumped to the floor. Sheila shot him another smile then returned to her work.

He watched her with curious caution, studying her erratic foot movements with a glaze in his eye. What the glaze showed exactly Sheila couldn't tell, but it was enough to make her bite her lip. What if she had spooked him too much? So much effort gone to waste, but she didn't let it weigh her down. She had to get her plan finished, and with a handful of stomps and slides she drew ever closer to that target. She scratched her way over the surface, checking back every few moments to ensure she hadn't ruined any previous work, and while her caution was excessive it kept her on course, which was why her smile was so broad as she skated over to Bentley and stepped off the ice.

"There," she said cheerfully, removing the skates from her feet, "I'm done now."

Bentley stood up, and while words still failed him he extended a hand, which Sheila gratefully took. He turned to lead her back to the Outpost, but she tugged him in a different direction.

"What? Do you not want to see why I did all that skating?" she asked, and the confusion was enough to inspire words from the yeti's mouth.

"You did it for a reason?"

"'Course I did. I wouldn't go skating in the middle of the night for no reason," she nodded to a nearby snow-smothered hill, "Over here."

She bounded off and Bentley staggered after her, squinting at the ice as he went. What was going on? He tried in vain to answer the question, but the images were completely unrelated. Skating at night and walking to the top of a hill, where on Earth did they meet?

He felt his feet sink into the deeper snow of the hill and he plodded up it, looking above to the eagerly awaiting Sheila.

"Come on! Come on! I don't know how long it'll last!" she said.

"How long what will last?"

"You'll see if you get yourself up here!"

Sighing, he picked up his speed and joined her at the top of the hill. Her grin widening, she shoved him down into the snow and sat beside him, staring out towards the rink.

"So what am I looking for?" Bentley asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Move your head a little until it catches the moonlight," Sheila instructed, tilting her own from side to side. Curious, Bentley copied her motions, and as the light shone on the ice he saw it, and it sucked the air clean out of his lungs. Carved into the rink was a heart, its thin lines glinting under the crescent's beam, and inside of it was a message. A message written in a looping cursive, sprawled elegantly across the smooth ice. A message that read:

To Bentley

Merry Christmas

Love

Sheila

"Wow," Bentley breathed, eyes glazing over in awe. "That's...that's amazing."

Sheila beamed at him. "Told you you'd like it."

"I...I do. I love it." He looked at her, "How long have you been planning that?"

"Six months. I've written that message over a hundred times in preparation for this."

"Blimey."

He faded back into silence, but slid an arm across Sheila's shoulders and gently pulled her to his side; she responded by resting her head on his shoulder. They sat there together, admiring the twinkle of Sheila's artwork in the moonlight and enjoying the warmth they exchanged through proximity.

"Just an early Christmas present." Sheila said suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"I just wanted to do something a bit more special than stuff like chocolate, y'know?"

"I know," Bentley said, "And it's much appreciated." He leaned across and pecked her on the cheek. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Sheila said, snuggling into his shoulder.

They sat admiring it until the moon hid behind a cloud, and when what little light remained faded they both let out a reluctant sigh.

"Well, that's that," Bentley said, "A shame I couldn't have taken a photograph of it, it was so beautiful."

"Yeah, it was nice," Sheila nodded, "But it did its job, and that's good enough for me."

"Then that's good enough for me too." He planted another kiss on her cheek. "Well, I guess we'd better return to the Outpost unless you have something better planned."

"Well..." Sheila said thoughtfully, "I'm content to sit here for a little while, if that's okay with you."

She nuzzled his shoulder again, and while an objection played on his lips he chose not to voice it.

"Okay."

They sat there for a very long time, long enough to feel the last of the feeling drain away from their snow-covered legs, but neither of them noticed. They didn't notice the cold, the night, the ice or even the distant clock tower as it tolled in Christmas Day. All they noticed was the fur that touched one another, the collision of brown on white, and the warmth that came with it.

* * *

**As it's Christmas I'm deviating from the usual crock of depressing shit that I write in favour of something more loving. Yes, I am capable of doing such a thing, I just choose not to. :D**

The title comes from a poem I read ages ago by your typical pretentious poet. Amazingly, the phrase 'skating in the dark' wasn't a metaphor, which is quite groundbreaking for poetry. :/

In a way this is both a success and a failure for me: success in that I've done something different; failure in that I've once again caved into shipping. Oh well, Merry Christmas. XD

**Please be so kind as to review. They are, as always, much appreciated. :)  
**


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